Rethinking Richonne
by Mrs.KayDeeEm
Summary: This is the story of The Walking Dead . . . from Richonne's perspective. Experience the anguish, the struggle, the angst, the hope. Experience how their world changes, the road alone, their relationship, and what makes them survivors. A request from Crazyhumor.


IN my attempt to avoid jail time, I do not own any aspects of The Walking Dead.

Michonne realized the deafening whooshing sound was her own blood rushing through her veins. She had someone else's elbow in her back and arms obstructing her view on the left and the right. Someone was knelling on the floor preventing Michonne from planting her feet for more leverage, although she wasn't sure how much leverage she could get in her heels anyway. They all pushed against the door. Finally she heard the click of the lock. To be heard over the rest of the racket in the office, she raised her voice, "It's locked! It's locked!" They managed to push Old Man Spalding into the closet. That event wouldn't have seemed strange if it was the annual Christmas party, or if Spalding hadn't died of a heart attack an hour ago. What started as office gossip and incredulous news reports had evolved to shatter what had started out as a normal day. The dead had come to life.

Two of Michonne's colleagues had gotten scratched in the commotion. She helped them clean their cuts and wrap them in what was available—toilet paper. At least it was the good stuff. Four years ago during a meeting when the motion to purchase a first aid kit was denied, the staff had been to short-sighted to prepare for the end of the world. Michonne's "patients" were distressed and agonized aloud. She found it hard to find words to provide solace. At some point she just stopped listening. Michonne stared out of the plate glass window at the high rise across the street, as if in a trance. Despite the fact that the coworkers she patched up had left her, Michonne couldn't will herself to move. It was as if she was in a tunnel moving at slow motion while the rest of the world moved in fast forward around her. She was numb. Sound was muffled and she couldn't think straight. She could hear snippets of the excitement in the office. Colleagues were running around, others were yelling at each other, some were weeping and wailing. She heard the people on either side of her packing their belongings. Many people mentioned holing up in the office. A few were going to take a chance getting home. Andre. Mike. The thought of them brought full clarity to Michonne. She had to get home.

Michonne made her way down to the lobby on the first floor. She peered out of the walls of glass. The scene before her played out like a movie. Several of the dead were pressed against and beating the glass. There were people standing at the doors holding them closed to prevent the dead from getting in. One woman wanted out. As soon as she got outside the door a couple of the dead caught her by her arms and attacked her. They bit into her wherever they could. Michonne cringed and looked away. Soon the woman's screams stopped. People were screaming and running up and down the street. Down the street she watched as a car swerved to miss hitting a few of the dead walking in the street. The car slammed into the façade of the local sandwich shop. As soon as the car made contact with the building, several of the dead turned and started approaching the accident. A few seconds later, the driver emerged from the car. He was quickly enveloped by several dead. Soon the driver's head disappeared in the cluster. Moments later, Michonne saw it—an even larger mass of the dead.

If Michonne was going to get home, she had to do it now. As Michonne approached the door, a man holding the door tried to talk her out of leaving. For a chance of protecting herself, Michonne grabbed a golf umbrella someone had left by the door. She exhaled sharply and headed out into the chaos.

Michonne took off in a sprint. She'd had practice running in heels by having to chase André around their home. She was also glad she and Mike had decided to buy a house not far from here. As she ran, Michonne could hear screams from people being attacked. She wanted to help, but getting home to her family was her only concern. She had to get off the main road to avoid so many of the living and the dead. As she turned the corner into an alley, she ran face to face with one of the dead walking around. Michonne stumbled back and gasped as she recognized the face. It was "Daisy Jane", the woman who sold fresh flowers down the street, across from Starbuck's. Daisy was gray, like death. The whites of her eyes looked jaundiced, and a cloudy layer covered her irises. Michonne's heart sank. She had routinely bought flowers from Daisy. On days Michonne must have looked like she was having a bad day, Daisy gave her free flowers. She had always been so nice to Andre. Michonne shoved Daisy. "Daisy, it's me, Michonne! Remember, I have the son named Andre! We both have family that live near Macon! Daisy!"

Daisy continued to come at Michonne. Michonne didn't want to hurt Daisy. She tried to side-step Daisy, but Daisy caught her by her shoulder. Michonne started crying. "I don't want to hurt you Daisy!"she yelled. Daisy tried to rip into Michonne. Michonne pushed Daisy with as much energy as she could muster as she sobbed. Daisy continued to advance. This time Michonne hoisted the umbrella above her right shoulder and drove the umbrella into Daisy's neck. Michonne yanked to retrieve the umbrella. This didn't seem to stop Daisy. Michonne pushed Daisy again, causing the florist to stumble back, but then regained forward momentum. Michonne heard her own voice loud and clear in her head, "This isn't Daisy any more, Michonne. It's either you or her." Michonne grabbed the umbrella like a baseball bat. "I'm sorry Daisy." Michonne swung the umbrella as if she were playing in the World Series. The handle of the umbrella slammed into Daisy's temple. As Daisy's body hit the ground, Michonne doubled over from the force of the swing.

Michonne steadied herself and ran the remaining few blocks to her home. As she approached her street, a few of her neighbors had packed their cars and were leaving the neighborhood. When she got closer to her house, she noticed someone on the porch. She ran up the steps and shoved the man out of the way with one hand and banged on the door with the other. She could hear voices on the other side of the door. It was Mike and Terry. The man she had shoved approached her again. His face looked like Daisy's. Michonne turned to the dead man and pushed him down the stairs. She banged on the door again. "It's me!" Michonne turned to look back at the street. Other dead walking down the street had now turned their attention to her. She banged again. "Hurry!" Finally, she heard Terry unlock the door. As he opened the door, Michonne tried to rush inside. Just as she stepped in the door, the dead man reached for her and was coming in the door too. Suddenly, Mike's bat came down on the man's head with such force that it crushed the man's skull. The dead man fell forward, preventing Terry from closing the door. Mike dropped the bat and yelled for Terry to help him move the body. The men walked to the dead guy's arms and dragged the body forward. As soon as the dean man's feet cleared the door, Michonne tried to shove the door closed, but another dead person had made his way hallway into the doorway. Terry dropped the dead man's arm and picked up the bat. Mike dropped the man's arm and ran to the door to offer Michonne more leverage to slam the door. As Mike raised his arms to place then against the door, the dead man bit Mike's forearm. Mike recoiled in shock and pain. Terry had hoisted the bat and brought it down against the dead intruder's head and hands. The intruder stumbled back enough for Michonne to slam the door shut.

Michonne grabbed Mike by the neck and pulled him into her. Mike winced in pain. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said worriedly, pressing her cheek to his. She leaned back to look at his entire face and held his face in her hands.

"I tried calling you, but kept getting voicemail, and then no calls were being connected at all. I wasn't sure of you should try coming home at all. I'm glad you're okay too, Mike said, sounding relieved. He kissed her forehead.

Still looking squarely in Mike's eyes, Michonne called, "Hi, Terry". She rolled her eyes. "Where's Andre? Is he okay?"

"He's in his room. We heard you banging, so I told him to hide in the closet until I came to get him."

"Terry, can you help Mike clean his arm while I go talk to Andre?" Terry suddenly looked nervous. "Just help him clean it, Terry. I'll come out and help after I talk to Andre. You can do this, Terry" she exclaimed as she walked away.

When she got to his room she swung the closet door open and dropped to her knees with her arms open wide. "Andre," she said in a sing-songy voice. From out of the shadows Andre's small frame lunged at Michonne, throwing his arms around her neck.

"Mommy!"

"Baby! Is my peanut okay?"

"I'm okay. Daddy told me to put my hand over my ears and sing.

"And what did you sing?"

"The Eensy Bensy Spider", Andre said matter of factly.

"The Itsy Bitsy spider! My favorite!" Michonne placing her hand on her chest and smiled widely.

"Let's do Old McDonald," suggested Andre.

"You sing it." Michonne bobbed her head back and forth as if listening to her favorite song.

"Okay." Andre began to sing. "Old McDonald had a chicken. E-I-E-I-O. Yay! Andre yelled, clapping proudly.

"We need to work on that song, buddy" Michonne said, laughing. Michonne held Andre's chin so she could look into his eyes and he could look into his. "You know Mommy loves you, right? Mommy needs you to stay here and play until I get back." Michonne gasped, "I know! Why don't you make Old McDonald's farm with your blocks and animals? Then when I get back, we'll sing the song together. Okay, peanut?"

"Okay Mommy."

Michonne knew the dead guy's body was still in the foyer didn't want Andre to have to see that. When she walked back through the foyer she tried not to look at the dead man's body. She could see Mike and Terry in the kitchen, cleaning Mike's wound and discussing what to do with the body.

"Dude, I don't know. It's not like I've done this before?" Terry said in a frustrated voice.

Michonne sounded authoritative, "Why don't you grad him out to the backyard? I'll clean up the rest. Andre doesn't need to see this." Michonne grimaced as she looked at Mike's bite. The man had left distinct markings from each of his teeth in Mike's arm. It was terribly bruised and had broken the skin. With limited first aid, she covered his bite with what she had on hand—burp cloths from when Andre was younger. She wrapped Mike's arm with one cloth and tied the next one around it to hold everything in place. "You okay? You probably need some antibiotics and some pain meds, but I doubt there's any way we could get to a hospital before the government and military start to get a handle on this".

"I'll be fine" Mike said, patting her arm. Michonne knew better. Mike was hard headed and guessed his arm hurt like hell. He just wouldn't ever let anyone see what he was feeling. Instead, Mike hopped up and walked into the foyer. He grabbed the dead man's legs. Terry, who was following, grabbed the guy's arms. They headed towards the backdoor as Michonne headed to her room to change her clothes. Michonne kicked off her heels as she yanked her braids out of the bun she had sculpted them into this morning. She pulled off her know fairly dirty and slightly ripped Donna Karan suit and laid it on the bed. She pulled on her favorite leggings and a tank top.

Michonne needed to cook some dinner. She headed back out to the foyer. She found Terry on his hands and knees, wringing out a now light red colored rag. As he squeezed with both hands, bloody water poured between his fingers back into the bucket.

Terry looked up after Michonne's toes appeared in his field of view. "I'll put the door mat over this spot when I'm finished." Terry nodded his head to one side to point. "Mike's playing with Andre."

Michonne said nothing as she walked through the foyer, simply leaning over to plant a kiss on Terry's forehead and patting Terry on the back as she passed. Michonne tiptoed down the hall to Andre's room. She loved getting the opportunity to watch Mike with Andre. He was such a good Dad. She peeked into the door. They had dragged out toy cars onto the carpet printed with roads and a cityscape. Andre made the cutest little car noises. He kept crashing his car into Mike's car. He squealed and giggled as mike spoke in a funny, high-pitched voice and moved his car erratically to get away from Andre. Andre hit his daddy's car again. This time Mike threw his car up into the air and pounced on Andre, knocking him to the floor. Andre erupted with laughter and the tickling commenced. Michonne had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing out loud. She sneaked away from the room as quietly as she had approach it.

Michonne headed to the kitchen to make something quick and easy that non-vegetarian Terry would eat. A little later the four sat down to Lentil Tacos—Andre's favorite. Terry, pleasantly surprised had not only seconds, but thirds. Mike on the other hand barely finished one taco. When questioned about it, Mike passed it off as the excitement from the day's events. Michonne was worried. Mike's whole countenance had changed. She could tell he was sick.

After dinner as Andre played in the floor, the three adults watched channel after channel on the TV, listening to incredible reports of conditions around the city. With each minute, more and more channels displayed static or the colorful bars to show that they were off the air. Frustrated, Mike turned off the TV and took Andre to bed. Left to sit in silence, Terry breathed in to say something, but as Michonne cut her eyes to him, he thought better of it and sank into the sofa.

When Mike returned, he started speaking before he was even in the room. "What are we going to do?" He clearly didn't feel well. His face was flushed and sweat dotted his forehead. When he raised his arm to dab his sleeve at his temple, Michonne noticed a few drops of blood on the cloth. He sat next to her on the sofa.

Michonne leaned over to feel his face. "Mike, you're burning up. You're sick. And your arm is beginning to bleed through. We need some meds and some bandages."

"And some weapons," Terry added. "It'll be dark in a just over an hour. Maybe we could go to one of the centers they mentioned on the news."

"I'm not taking my son out in that. It's too dangerous. I'll bet we could stay here a couple of days until they get this under control."

"Who is they Mike?" Terry sounded scared. "How long are we going to have to stay here?" the lights flickered. They sat in silence for a few seconds. "Jesus, Mike. By morning we may not have any electricity. We already have no TV." Terry walked over to the phone, pushed the button, and listened. "And no phone." Terry began to pace.

Mike out his head in his hands, his condition deteriorating. Michonne rubbed his back. She almost jerked her hand away, shocked by the amount of heat radiating from Mike, but she didn't want to alarm him. She was surprised at how quickly Mike's temperature had increased in the few minutes since she had felt his head.

"Look, Terry. We just don't know what's out there. You can always go back to your own place or go to a center alone, if you want to." Mike said weakly.

Michonne didn't know what to think. She just knew she had to take care of Mike. When she spoke, the mediating lawyer (the one she didn't use very often) came out. "Mike, you need to rest. I know the neighborhood. Most of our neighbors have already gone. I can look through the house next door to find some things we need. Terry, I need you here for Mike and Andre. Tomorrow morning we'll see how things look and make a decision about going to a center then."

Mike groaned as if he was going to put up a fuss but couldn't seem to produce much more than a sigh. "Can you do this, Terry?" Michonne sounded determined.

Terry stopped pacing. I think so . . . yes." Terry sounded as sure as he could.

"I need you to get Mike to bed. Look for some ibuprofen or some Tylenol to give him to lower his fever. And make him drink some water. Check on Andre. I don't think I'll be gone long, but I'll take the key and lock the door behind me. Terry, thanks."

Michonne went to her room. She slipped her feet into some fold over boots and zipped up a vest over her tank top. She went to the kitchen to slip a knife into her back pocket and grabbed the bat by the front door. She peeked through the peep hole onto a deserted street. She opened the door and quickly locked it behind her and slip the keys in her front pocket. She decided she would go to her next door neighbor's house. She knew they had probably already left for Florida, as they had family members there. Mom was a hypochondriac, so she probably had some medication on hand. Michonne remembered Dad trying to hem her up in a gun rights conversation once, so he probably had a weapon. And then there was the teenager. He was into samurai movies. She had seen him using a few ninja-type weapons in the backyard several times, so she figured she could grab a sword or knife at the very least.

As soon as she turned from having locked the door, Michonne noticed two of the dead walking in her direction. Although they were slow, she was going to have to deal with at least one of them in order to get across the yard. She moved quickly, approaching the dead man with the bat hoisted above her shoulder. She thought she would hit the man and keep moving. As she got closer, she knew it was Jethro, from down the street. Michonne froze. Dead Jethro staggered forward, hands grasping, teeth gnashing. Michonne closed her eyes ad squealed as she swung the bat as hard and as quickly as she could. The bat swung round to Michonne's back and slammed into her shoulder blade, almost knocking her down. Michonne swung again, this time with her eyes open. Jethro hit the ground. Although she wanted to crumple to the ground and sob, Michonne willed herself to her neighbor's house. She had watched the teenager, Rob, sneak into his house enough times after curfew, that she knew where she might get in. She sprinted to a side window and found a place to lift the window. It opened! She quickly dropped the bat in first, and heaved herself up and slid into the window. Just as Michonne's feet were sliding in, she felt something try to grab her shoe. She screamed, yanked her foot, and jumped up off the floor. She slammed the window shut and locked it. She closed the curtains so none of the dead could see her.

The room smelled of a cross between corn chips, weed and dirty socks—clearly the room of a teenager. Michonne gave Rob's room a quick once over. She didn't find much, but she noticed his backpack by the door. She zipped it open and dumped everything out onto his desk. She placed one strap of the bag over her shoulder and headed out into the hall.

Michonne made a B line for the master bedroom. She hit the bathroom first. It was clear from the products on the counter which side of the double vanity belonged to the wife. Michonne opened a couple of drawers, only to find more hair and beauty products. Then, she opened the cabinet. Bingo! Michonne found Amoxicillan and Zithromax, as well as Percocet and two other controlled medications, all of which she threw into the backpack. She found a few bandages on Dad's side of the vanity.

Michonne searched the master bedroom for a gun. Nothing under the bed or in the closet. Next Michonne hit the kitchen. All she was able to snag was a box of crackers. She looked in all of the drawers and cabinets—no hidden weapon. Michonne tool a chance and searched a closet by the front door. She grabbed a metal box at the top of the closet. She peered into the box. A few bullets, but no gun. Maybe they took it with them. She didn't blame them.

Michonne headed to the last bedroom. As she pushed the door open, her jaw dropped. She knew Rob had been a samurai film buff, but she had no idea. In displays along three walls, she found nunchucks and fighting sticks, swords and katanas, daggers and other small knives and throwing stars. She grabbed a couple of the smaller knives and placed them at the bottom of the backpack. Some of the swords were large and cumbersome, or too heavy. Others were replicas, so they weren't even sharp. She picked up a katana. She checked to see if the katana was real by slicing one of the tassels which hung off the scabbard. With very little effort, the tassel fell to the floor. Michonne put the katana in its scabbard and slung it over her shoulder. She threw a strap of the backpack over the same shoulder, and headed back to Rob's room.

Michonne planned on leaving the same way she came in—through the window. As she drew back the curtain, several pairs of eyes stared back at her. The dead started growling and beating the window. She quickly closed the curtains again. She ran to the front door and peered through the peephole. There were several dead walking about. There was no way she was going to make it back home tonight.

Michonne climbed onto the bed with her back against the wall. She pulled her knees into her chest, tucked her head and cried. She was very worried about what was happening at home. And she was scared. Michonne had never been so scared in her life. How did she get here? A lawyer who had just broken in to her neighbor's house to steal food, first aid, and a weapon? She thought about what she had seen today. Could it get worse?

Michonne looked up and noticed a sliver of light under the curtains at the window. She walked over to the window and tried to see through the small gap between the curtains. No dead people. She went to the front door to check the street. No dead walking around. Michonne decided to make a run for it. She used both straps to secure the backpack to her back and slung the strap of the katana's scabbard across her chest, rather than just a shoulder. She wielded the katana in both fists, holding it out in front of her, ready at the appearance of any dead. Michonne swung the front door wide open and waited. Upon seeing no movement, she headed out of the front door. When she got down the front steps, she ran. She made it to her front door with still no dead in sight. She didn't dare beat on the door to draw attention to herself from any dead nearby. Michonne reached behind her to grab the scabbard with one hand, and slid the katana back into the sheath with ease. She reached into her pocket for her keys and unlocked the door.

Michonne quietly stepped inside an eyed the spot where they had killed the walker yesterday. She heard the footsteps of an awkward gait and the distinctive throaty groans. She slowly looked up until she peered into the foggy, pinpoint pupils of Terry and Mike. One of Terry's sleeves was completely blood soaked. Mike appeared to have no additional wounds. They ambled toward her with arms outstretched to reach her as they approached. Michonne's throat tightened with grief. "No, no, no, no, no . . . ,"she cried, but her tightly constricted throat only allowed for air to escape. As her eyes filled with tears, Michonne raised the katana from her back and made a full swing across the front of her body. One arm from each of the men fell to the floor. She doubled over in anguish, fat tears dripping onto her boots. Undeterred, both dead men continued to stagger towards her. Rage and grief produced a primal scream from Michonne's gut as she stood and pushed both dead men into a nearby open closet. She slammed the door, placed her back against the door and crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Unable to stand, Michonne crawled through the foyer towards the bedrooms.

"Andre . . . ," she wept as she approached his room. "Andre . . ." Michonne held up her head as she crawled through the doorway. Andre's diminutive body lay on the bed in a pool of blood. His little throat ripped out, probably while he slept. Michonne laid her head across his chest and sobbed. Michonne had just lost everything that mattered to her in the world. Her sobbing seemed to escalate for quite some time until it suddenly stopped. Michonne held her breath. She thought she had felt Andre's body move. She quickly raised her head and looked wide eyed at Andre. His arm twitched and his head turned to the side. His breathing was loud and ragged. When his head turned back to face her, his eyelids flipped open. Michonne wailed even louder than she had before."Noooo, not my baby!"

Michonne sat on the floor and backed away from the boy, until she felt herself close to the wall. The child managed to slide off of the bed and shuffle towards his mother. Still sobbing, Michonne shook her head as if in denial. Her son kept shuffling closer. She was able to hold off the boy at arms distance. Michonne kept one hand on his chest to keep him at bay as the other hand reached into her back pocket. Her sobbing reached a crescendo as she drove the knife into the child's ear. His body fell limp into her arms, his chin resting on her shoulder as if in an embrace.


End file.
